


Don't spoil the show

by LeDiz



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adrenaline Junkies, F/M, and it shows, carrot is too good to be true, he just doesn't know it, liars vs captains, moist is a good guy too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a carriage ride to somewhere probably more interesting, Spike considers Moist as the man behind the golden suit, and Captain Carrot as the one who scares him most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't spoil the show

Most people weren’t aware of just how easy it was to make Moist von Lipwig nervous.

Partly because he lived on adrenaline, and so making him nervous only brought out his best. It was only those who really knew him— _him_ , not the man in the golden suit or the bright smile or the effortless charm—knew that he lived in a near-constant state of low-level panic.

He was starting to grow out of it, now he was settling down and had found new ways to get the same high. Banter with Vimes seemed to be one of his preferred methods of defying death, and Sacharissa Cripslock was around enough to keep Moist on his toes. She would have annoyed Adora, who knew what her husband found most appealing in her and could recognise it in other women, but she’d found that being completely unconcerned with what he was and wasn’t interested in was more than enough to keep his interests solely focussed.

The tightrope’s no fun if your audience doesn’t believe you might fall.

But there were levels, and Adora was familiar with all of Moist’s quirks. The low-level panic was fine. The mild terror was fun (usually because she was causing it). The heavy sadness was sweet, in its own way, and she knew how to handle it. She was oddly proud on those rare occasions when Moist would rage, because they were always worthwhile. She even tolerated the fear Vetinari could inspire, because it was usually followed by the manic wonder that was Moist at his most passionate.

She did not like the nerves caused by Captain Carrot, however.

Moist’s reaction to him was odd, because she knew they’d met many times before. But for some reason, in social situations where Carrot was being casual (or at least as casual as he could get) and Moist wasn’t trying to sell something, Moist almost seemed… unnerved.

He stopped talking so much. Smiled very thinly and only enough to be polite. He avoided shaking hands and did his level best to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible.

Which was odd, because he wasn’t like that around anyone else, including Captain Carrot’s partner, whom Moist was surprisingly warm and honest with. She was from Uberwald, just like him, and had been the first person to ask Adora if Moist knew the only person he was still fooling was himself.

Adora liked Angua.

But Carrot…

After talking to the captain at length, and then sharing a few polite drinks with Angua, she did figure it out. She decided to dislike Carrot on Moist’s behalf, because the gods knew the man himself probably couldn’t manage it. Most people couldn’t.

Because Carrot was, in many ways, the complete equal and inverse of Moist.

They were very similar in a lot of ways. All either of them had to do was walk into a room and it was theirs for the taking. People followed them, believed in them, and just generally couldn’t help liking them. It was just for completely different reasons.

Carrot was a natural star. You couldn’t ignore him. He looked like a hero: handsome and heroic, shaped like his name with a reliable, honest face.

Moist cultivated his image, and he could take it off whenever Vetinari allowed him to. Even Adora, ashamed though she was to admit it to herself, could overlook him when he really wanted to stay hidden in a crowd.

Carrot was a Good Man. It was in everything he did. While Moist was…

She looked at him from across the carriage, to where he was staring out at the city, unmemorable face unreadable. He’d taken to doing that, lately, when he thought he wasn’t being watched (or at least didn’t mind). Just watching. Not calculating, not planning, just… watching the city work. Sometimes she thought she saw a hint of fondness in his gaze.

The real difference between Moist and Carrot was that Carrot _knew_ he was a Good Man, she corrected herself. He was always right, even when he was in the wrong.

Moist didn’t believe he was a good person, no matter how many people told him so. Each time someone tried, she and a select few could see his heart break just a little, because it meant they’d fallen for the act.

Carrot was a manipulator, too. If you spent enough time around him, you realised he was subtly playing you – moving you in ways he wanted you to be. You never found yourself minding, though, because you automatically trusted that he was doing it for the right reasons.

These days, everyone recognised Moist for what he was. A showman, a con. He worked on a large scale, but it was still stage magic. He wasn’t performing miracles. He was pocketing the cards, loading the dice. You _knew_ it. But you let him do it, because pointing out the tricks spoiled the show.

What was curious was the motivations.

Moist would tell anyone who cared to ask that any good he did was because Vetinari forced him to, and everything else was for the fun. Because that was what it was: _fun_. Anyone could ride the tiger, and a few could even ride it off a cliff, maybe grab a branch on the way down to stay alive while the poor cat plummeted. But in the last few years, Moist had made a career of not only escaping with all limbs in tact, but only doing so after the tiger was safely in a cage with plenty of meat and some nice trees to climb on.

Carrot, on the other hand…

Carrot wanted what he had. He had the Watch, and Angua. He had Vimes to answer to, and a city to keep safe. As long as he had all of that, he had what he wanted and nothing else need change. He’d fight to keep it that way, too.

“A very typical dwarf,” she commented, and that, finally, broke Moist out of his reverie.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing of consequence,” she said, and took a long drag on her cigarette. “I was just thinking that Captain Carrot is an interesting study.”

Moist’s face, which had been working its way into a smile, went blank again. “You think so.”

She honestly didn’t know what Carrot would do with a tiger, she realised as she watched Moist watch her. He’d probably never get on it to start with. He’d just stop the tiger in its tracks or fight it to the death.

“He’s a good man,” Moist said, in that careless, light way he did everything when he was being very careful. Adora narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You think so.”

His head twitched, and a real smile broke through the mask. It was still only small – a quirk of his lips more than anything. But it was real. “You don’t like him.”

She just smoked her cigarette, letting him read her however he liked. She had never made any secret of the fact that she liked her conmen honest and her heroes crooked. If they came in one very plain package then so much the better.

But Moist, she suspected, didn’t fit into Carrot’s perfect world. Moist was a Criminal, and an unrepentant one at that. By Carrot’s reasoning, he should be in prison, not ultimately responsible for half the city’s processes and most of its publicity.

And Carrot didn’t fit into Moist’s world, either. Because Moist didn’t believe in Good Men. He didn’t believe in heroes that would save the damsel and then hand her over to her father with nothing but a polite tip of the hat. He couldn’t fathom the idea of such a master manipulator being happy with a cop’s salary and honest job description.

But he wanted to. He wanted to believe in a man like Carrot. He just couldn’t.

Hence the melancholy mood. Because when Moist was given the time to dwell on the things he really wanted and believed, he despaired of the world for accepting a man like him.

So Adora, who could no longer accept a world without him, smoked her cigarette and stared him down, silently daring him to see what she wasn’t saying.

He abruptly surged forward, rising just enough to spin on his heel and resettle on the seat beside her, arm extended behind her back and a broad grin in place. “I’ve been thinking we should go out some time. To a proper dinner, with candlelight, and no politics. And –”

She pressed the two fingers holding her cigarette against his lips, taking a certain amount of pleasure in his grimace. She would have enjoyed it anyway, but tonight it was sweeter still because it was real. The grin hadn’t been.

She kissed him soundly, and then pulled back, meeting his non-expression with her own. “I would like that. But only if you wear the grey suit.”

The one she’d bought him because it reminded her of the first time they met, when he was messy and unmemorable and just that little bit mad in so many ways. It didn’t sparkle or shine, accentuate his shoulders or bring out any particular colour in his eyes. It was just a suit, tailored to fit but not impress.

Moist blinked, then smiled, and this time, it didn’t gleam. So she kissed him again, softer and longer, until the last of the nerves were all gone.


End file.
